


in love with the world through the eyes of a girl

by girljustdied



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-22
Updated: 2011-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-08 23:00:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17395352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girljustdied/pseuds/girljustdied
Summary: lost time with cook and effy.





	in love with the world through the eyes of a girl

**Author's Note:**

> 3x10.

They lose the wheels a week in. Don’t give a fuck. When they need another car he’ll just steal one. Only problem really is where they’re gonna sleep until he does. They collapse together in the middle of a field outside of a warehouse and he starts digging through his pockets.

“How much money you got?”

She molds to his side, her cheek against his. It’s cold out, he’s happy for the warmth. Can feel her jaw move when she talks, “I like it out here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she mocks, eyes fixed on the sky above them. “Under the stars. I like it. We should just sleep out here tonight.”

A real mind-reader, this girl. No joke. Perceptive. Bright.

“You and me and a starry night,” he finds himself waxing all poetical.

“Something like that,” her mouth in a mysterious line.

“No,” he laughs a bit meanly just to let her know it’s not working. “Exactly like that.”

She doesn’t retort. He can feel her mood shifting—she’s coming down. Sobering up. He threads her hand with his, picks at the scabs on his knuckles absentmindedly.

“What’s on your mind, girl?” he asks finally. Suddenly hates that he’s always the one pushing forward. Didn’t use to care about that shit.

“I’m tired, Cook.” No room for discussion, he guesses. “Really tired.”

“All right.” So is he. Closes his eyes, tries to settle himself. Her hand is cold in his, so he rubs at it with both palms until it warms, then puts his right arm behind his head again. Almost drifts off—

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?” She knocks her temple to his to bring him back to her, asks like she’s maybe even interested in the answer, “What do you regret?”

Even half-asleep, he can’t give himself over so easy.

“What’s the point of the exercise, Eff?” his voice feels like gravel in his throat. “You got somethin’ you’re finally willing to share?”

“Sometimes you remind me of Tony,” she avoids as well, smiles absentmindedly.

“Tony?” The name is familiar, but he can’t place it.

“My brother. I swear he can read my mind. See everything—make sense of it better than I ever could.”

“I’ve got one,” he finds himself offering.

She gets it immediately. “A brother.”

“Mmm,” he murmurs an affirmative. “Little man lives with my mum. Haven’t seen him in a year. Maybe more.”

“Why not?”

“Come on, Eff. You can guess, can’t ya? What else are we doing out here?” he coughs uncomfortably. “So. What’s yours?”

Regret. He’s not sorry, but—

She frowns, and doesn’t answer. Just grips his hand tighter.

“Look, can I tell ya something?” He trains his face to the sky. Figures if he looks at her he might spook her. She’s still silent, so he continues. “Whatever you did, it don’t matter. Not to me. I don’t give a fuck. You coulda done anything. You could _do_ anything. Anything. I’d still—I wouldn’t—you get what I’m saying, yeah?”

It’s not a declaration of love or anything. And he’s only shaking because it’s cold out. He bends the arm he has slung under her neck and brings her to him tighter. Instinctively, like. She turns to her side and throws an arm across his chest, a leg between his.

“You don’t know all of the things I’ve done. What I did that night,” her voice muffled in his chest is challenging all the same.

He pulls at her hair a little to make her look up at him. “It don’t fuckin’ matter. You can’t scare me, you got it?”

“I beat Katie unconscious with a rock. And then with her out of the picture I shagged Freddie.” And when he doesn’t say anything right away, “Scared yet, Cook?”

He feels punched in the gut, like all the breath he had inside got pushed out. “If you got Freddie, then what’re you doin’ here with me, princess?” But he knows the answer, and he sure as fuck doesn’t want to hear it from her. Feels like a fool for asking. For hoping.

“Last resort,” her voice is cutting, but her body tightens around his like she’s afraid he might leg it and she doesn’t want him to. “Obviously.”

A game. All right. He can play. He can always play.

“Figures,” he says dully. “So what? Business as usual, yeah? That the best you can dish out?”

Her hands fist in his jumper, “You want more?”

“You got more to give?” he touches her side—that soft, vulnerable spot under her ribs.

“Sure,” she sits up slightly to bend over him.

“Come on then, drop the bomb,” he reaches up to cup her face carefully. “You don’t love me. Say it.”

She mirrors him, thumb resting on a cut on his jawline—stings. Shakes her head slightly, “You don’t love me.”

That is where she is dead wrong. Fuck. He didn’t want—

She leans down and grinds her lips to his in a heavy, bruising kiss. He doesn’t give a shit. He can take it. Responds in kind, sits up halfway, hands taking a rough grip on her.

“Maybe Freds is a fuckin’ coward, but I’m not scared. You know I’m not,” he mutters, because maybe for the very first time he really, truly is. What happens next matters. She matters. He’s taking her towards his dad’s town, for fuck’s sake. “I’m not scared of anything.”

“Me, neither,” she lays a palm flat in the middle of his chest to push him back fully down onto the ground. Taps her fingers to a beat he suddenly realizes is the drum of his heart, does it until it slows. The fight’s over suddenly, gone, and now she just sits staring down at him. Sees right through his skin, he thinks. X-ray vision Effy. “You got a knife, Cook?”

“What for?” he shakes his head to try and clear it. Lets go of her to fetch his pocket knife, but doesn’t hand it over straight off. “Got double suicide on the brain? Out in a blaze of glory?”

“Something like that.”

“Good.” He sets the knife in her hand.

Her smirk falters, eyes soften. She flicks open the blade and presses it to her palm.

“Eff—” he barely gets out before she breaks the skin of her right hand with the tip of the knife. It’s a small cut; she barely winces. The blood wells up but doesn’t drip. Nothing to get in a tizzy about.

“Hold out your hand.” She says it like she doesn’t care to force it if he won’t. So he just does. Watches her prick his left palm and does his best not to make a sound at the quick sting that ratchets up his arm. She starts to bring her bleeding hand to touch his, but stops a few centimeters away. “All right?”

All he can think is that she looks like a dream come true. “All right.”

So she threads their hands back together, face serious. “Saw that in a film once when I was a kid. Now we’re blood brothers.”

He likes the sound of that, but can’t help a bit of chin wagging on the subject: “Yeah? You’re pretty crackin’ for a manly man and all, peachy.”

Effy chuckles affectionately, lies back down and just holds onto him, thinking again.

“When you’ve got nothing, you’ve got me,” he says low and careful into her ear. “Got it?”

The last thing he sees before drifting off are her eyes shifting to study his face, away from the stars twinkling all romantic and shit above them. Doesn’t think she even heard him until she speaks.

“Got it.”


End file.
